


Stretch before dancing

by Mousewrites



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Genre: Oral Sex, Other, Pre-Movie(s), Science Fiction, Weird Fruit, political struggles, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mousewrites/pseuds/Mousewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank wakes up the morning of the mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretch before dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a birthday fic for a dear friend. Note, I've never read anything else RHPS, so any errors are mine due to sloppy fact checking. :)

Frank yawned, stretching his arms back over his head. The faint blue light of second moonrise glimmered on the walls of his bedroom, and he dabbled his fingertips in the shifting bands for a moment. Time to get up. Today was the day.

He rolled over, pulling the fur-trimmed blanket up over his head. Why he had ever agreed to this mission was beyond him. Was he really going to leave his home, his planet? Life on some backwater little rock, even if only for a few months, would be terrible. He just knew it.

His pillow, cool and slick against his cheek, chirped at him. Damn alarm. He tried to ignore it, but soon enough the blanket would chime in, and then the whole damn bed would chill down until he was forced out of bed. Might as well get up now, while he was still warm.

The carpet on the floor changed colors as he stepped, his footprints causing blue and gold ripples to spread and bounce against the wall, as if he was walking on gilded water. He loved this carpet, the indulgence, the pure beauty of the color, the motion.

His teddy went into the box at the back of his closet, the one that he intended to put into storage as before he left. His lingerie he did not want paraded around the servant’s quarters. They could trot out his formal wear, his silks, his stuffy corset with the little gold buttons, but his lovely lovely personal wear he would safeguard from prying eyes and sticky fingers.

Sun help him, he wouldn’t take any of it with him.

Hard to blend in if you’re wearing fishnets and a corset that changes color based on your arousal, even on a planet that has supposedly started to pull itself out of the Repressinistic dark ages.

He had his ‘human’ clothing, bland and stuffy and voluminous. He felt as if he couldn’t breath in the layers. Underwear, and pants, and shirt, and jacket; the earthen obviously wanted at least two layers of cloth between them and the world.

So like the Repressionists. He understood the government’s position. The small nation of militant Repressionists that had coalesced fifty years ago had grown, and they already had people on Earth, supposedly, spreading their filthy ideas into the unsuspecting human population.

It was counteracting all the good the First Waver team had done; the bra burning, the short skirts… the free love ideology had taken root with the younger earthen, but the militant Repressionists had the ears of the old.

The planet needed to be taken now, when the young were as physically fit as possible. The old, once stripped of their technology and power, would be easy to overthrow.

For all Transylvanian, the Government said. For the Ideolistics, and the Repressionists, and everyone else. What they meant that if the largely Ideologistic government could conquer Earth first, they could make sure that the militantly Represionistic nation of Shameatica didn’t spoil it for the rest of them.

Which is why they were sending a mixed team. Each ship had a small group. His ship, the Little Death, was in the vanguard. The Big Death, their sister ship, had Reepish captain. The Little Death was in every way it’s opposite. Led by himself, an outspoken, even fringy, Ideolistic, seconded by a Reep leaning atheist, and his firmly Ideo sister. The rest of the fleet was peopled by a mixed bag of Ideos, Reeps, and everything in between.

Frank sighed, running his fingers over the cool slick satin of his bathrobe. He would miss Transylvania.

The servants had outdone themselves with breakfast this morning; those little wiggly fish he liked, swimming in a lovely warm broth of lightly scented water, with a bowl of pink bodyfruit dusted in sugar. The female bodyfruit pulsed gently, lips opening and closing, the moist edges slowly dissolving the sugar. A tendril snaked out of one and explored its neighbor. The male bodyfruit hung over the edges of the bowl limply, carefully and artfully placed away from the female. A plate of cakes drizzled with slightly clotted cream and a swirl of bitter ratmana sat under cover to keep the bugs off.

Frank took his tray out to his veranda, his favorite place to have breakfast. Second Moon was fully up by now, her belly swollen with the impending full moon. He hated to miss Moon Birth, but the launch window was fixed; they went tomorrow, or they didn’t go for another three months. Ah, how he would miss the parties! Last Moon Birth he had performed a progressive staging of the Joining, to much acclaim.

Granted, the Reeps hated it, but that was their way. Love and let Love.

He sighed again, playing with the bodyfruit. One was pulsing madly, nectar dripping from its lips as it tried to capture his finger. He let it, briefly, the sticky smooth inside rippling madly as it pulled inside. A tendril wrapped itself around his hand. He felt the inside throb a few times before it shuddered, its peel flushing deep red, nectar seeping out around his hand. He picked it up with his other hand, sliding his finger out tenderly.

It was sweet against his tongue, the flesh slightly bitter, nectar thick and warm. The tendril beat against his face weakly as he ate the fruit. He caressed a male idly as he ate the wiggling fish, their crunchy bones and the slight sharp sting as they bit his tongue refreshing after the sticky fruit.

The servants had really outdone themselves.

The sky was turning pink slowly as the morning progressed. The Sun would be up soon, blazing across the sky in a few short hours, and he didn’t plan to miss the last Sun of his last day planetside. He needed to finish up his breakfast and get dressed. He didn’t move.

He would miss the simple things. The bodyfruit, for instance. None of the fruit on Earth responded in anyway pleasingly to touch as far as they could tell, and none of it moved. This would be his last bit of real, fresh food until he got home.

The marl they served at Government Launch didn’t count. Stuffy painted cakes and tepid bulbs of cream. No thank you. Not much better than the food they had in stasis on the ship. He’d rather eat sparingly until he got to Earth.

And who knew what real Earthen food tasted like? He’d had the apples and bananas they grew at GL, but they tasted of the odd chemicals they used to make them grow in so little sunlight.

At least he’d have Sunlight on Earth… even if it were a different Sun.

The male bodyfruit responded to his hand, and he licked gently around the head, cupping the heavy bulbs in his hand. The bittersweet seed churned inside, warm against his skin. He could just bite into the bulbs as his younger sister did when they were growing up, but he liked to observe the niceties of life. The little things. The sensual bits of life that made it worth it.

The bodyfruit jerked, the bulbs hardening. He slipped it deeper into his mouth, his teeth scraping the slightly wrinkled skin, the tip nestled against the back of his throat. It leaked bitter pre-nectar into his mouth, and he hummed appreciatively.

Sun bless the Transylvanian who designed bodyfruit.

He slid back, nibbling at the tip, kneading the bulbs. It jerked once, twice, then flooded his mouth with bittersweet seed. He swallowed it all down, letting the last few spurts linger in his mouth as he consumed the spent fruit, the spongy flesh catching on his teeth.

He left the empty bulbs on his plate.

As the Sun finally rose, soaking the shore and the manor house with golden light, Frank stood at his railing, his eyes drinking in the sights of his home, the calls of the birds, panting away in the trees. He said a brief prayer of thanks to the Sun, rising faithfully every morning, and said goodbye to Transylvania.

He had to go. The Government didn’t really ask him. This was a matter of preserving his way of life. He had to go.

But it was going to be nice to come home when it was all over.


End file.
